


Time to Put Paulie to Bed

by waveofahand



Series: 30 Second Fanfics [7]
Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 30 Second Fanfic, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and flirting, M/M, Responsible John, drunk!Paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20449868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand
Summary: Paul McCartney is drunk off his head. John is taking care of him. They're both adorable.





	Time to Put Paulie to Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynzee005](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynzee005/gifts).

> 30 Second Fanfics are quick McLennon pieces all based on photos found around the internet, so pictures are necessary and really add to the story. The whole series is dedicated to @Lynzee005, who has been an inspiration for my writing and so wonderfully encouraging!

“John, look at me! I’ve a cape, just like Batman! Look! I can fly! I don’t need that LDS stuff! _I can_ _fly!"_

At that moment, John realized that Paulie, ever the lightweight (and currently confusing Lysergic acid diethylamide with the Church of the Latter Day Saints), had consumed all the drink he could possibly handle for one night and should be bundled off to bed. He set about the room, shaking hands and making their excuses to their hosts, because even he knew that sometimes manners mattered, and this was one of those times. “Lovely night, and thank you, we’ve had a grand time, but you see Paul is a bit knackered and we have an early sound check, so we’ll be leaving. No, please don’t get up, don’t trouble yourselves, we’ll see ourselves out.”  
  
“I _can’t_ see!” Paul murmured as he clutched John’s hand. “I must be invisim…invism…imbisival! I can’t _see!_ And nobody can see me, too!”  
  
“That’s right, love,” John said, getting a sense of what Paul had had to deal with, all too often, during those pub-crawling nights in Hamburg. “Everything is all right, you’re just invisible, so hold on to me, and I’ll get us home before you get visible again, and people can see you.”  
  
“Oh, I LOVE YOU!” Paul hollered, shaking his head back and forth as he tried unsuccessfully to shrug the cape off his head. “’M-member that time on the bus, when I didn’t have enough money to get home, and that nice man gave me a quid? And I shouted ‘I love you’ at him because he was leaving, and I didn’t know wh-what to shay?”  
  
“Yes, Doll, I remember,” John smiled fondly.  
  
“Jus’ like that!” Paul shouted.

“Shhhh! I’m right here, you don’t have to shout, Paulie. Just like what?”  
  
“Just like that guy on the bus, I love you just like that!”  
  
“Ah, so you’re grateful to me and don’t know what to say, is that it?”  
  
“_Wheeeeeee_! The room is spinny when I shake my head!”

John laughed out loud. “You’re pissed, mate.”

“Ya-Aye, I think I might be, but you know John…” Paul paused to let out a frank but dainty burp, “You know, Johnny, the Yanks in Engl–in ‘Merica, I mean, the Yanks? You know the Y-Yanks?” He burped again.  
  
“I’m familiar with them, yes, Macca. What about the Yanks?”  
  
“Well, they says – say ‘pissed’ too, but when they say it, then… they when they say it…they mean angry. They’re _angry_.”

“Is that right,” John cooed, hauling Paul into the first taxi he saw, and thanking God that he’d worn his glasses, this night, and so could recognize a cab when he saw one.

“It is! Yes! I am right,” Paul announced proudly. “But I could never be pissed with you, John, love. Not pissed like dru-drunk, but pissed like _angry_, I mean. I could be drunk with you. But never an-_angry_.”

John found it charming that each time Paul said "angry" he would growl out the word and wrinkle his nose. “Well, thank you, Macca, and why is that?”

“Be-because you’re my Johnny,” Paul hiccuped. He held his hand up before his face, unable to see it through the cloak still over his head. Splaying his fingers, he giggled and counted off from his pinky to his thumb in an old child’s game. “You’re my Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, whoops, Johnny, whoops, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, oh…_Johnnnnnyyyy_,” he whined suddenly, scootching about until he could lay his head on his partner’s shoulder. “I’m tired, now.”

“We’re almost home, love.” 

“You’re my Johnny whoops, Johnny. You give me the _whoopees_!” Paul cackled and lifted his head, landing a kiss in the approximate area of Lennon’s chin. 

John laughed out loud once more. He was enjoying this. “Well thank you again, Paulie. I don’t think anyone’s getting any whoopees tonight, though. Lay back, love.”

Paul lay back again, crooning something incomprehensible about making whoopee before dying. John realized Macca was close to falling asleep, and he knew he should probably urge the driver to speed it up, but as he nudged the blinding fabric off the younger man’s head and heard his sweet voice singing out, he couldn’t help but smile at what he beheld. 

“Driver,” he spoke up, “Don’t mind the traffic. Take us once ‘round the block before the drop off, eh?” Then he wrapped his arm around Paul, drawing him in more closely, and feasted his eyes on this dark beauty he so loved, listening to his tuneful babbling in perfect contentment.


End file.
